


Palimpsest

by djinnj



Series: Moments [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djinnj/pseuds/djinnj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late winter, 1996; there's nudity and there's nakedness. This is a lot of one, and some of the other, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palimpsest

Fleur lay spooned in Bill's arms, their sweat cooling on their heated skin and the blankets hopelessly askew down around their hips. She sighed deeply, breathing in their earthy mingled scent, and smiled at his soft interrogative _Hmm?_. She shifted a little, luxuriating in the feel of his body pressed against hers, no necessities or urgent demands calling them away from this pleasure and this comfort. She traced the blue veins on the inside of his wrist with her lips and licked his pulse point, tasting the salt on his skin again.

“I like this, this being with you in the day.” She tilted her head a little to give him better access as he nuzzled her neck. “I like to see you... oh....” and she trailed off as his lips found the place that sent shivers all the way down to her toes, while his thumb moved in distracting circles around her navel. His hands were always so warm, as warm as his lips.

He chuckled and murmured, “And what can you see with your eyes closed?” She pouted when his mouth did not return to her skin and opened her eyes to look over her shoulder at him.

“They are not always closed and you, _mon coeur_ , are very interesting and very beautiful to look at.” That made him laugh. 

“'Interesting'? If you'd left it at that I'd think you were trying to spare my feelings.” She snorted indelicately and he grinned. 

“Of course, and your feelings are so very much in need of sparing.” 

Bill's thoughts had apparently moved on, however. He shifted up and looked at her cradled in the crook of his arm, brushing his thumb over her cheek with his fingers tender against her jaw as his smile went soft around the edges.

“But yeah, I do love seeing you when we're like this.” 

She pressed up into his fingers as they traced down her neck and along her collarbone and then cupped down along the sensitive side of her breast before his hand spread warm and strong against her ribs. She sighed again, her eyelids drifting down.

“Breathtaking...,” he murmured and she opened her eyes, glad again for the clear winter light. Her stomach gave a familiar flip flop as he looked at her in that way he had. It was nothing like the addled haze that she knew too well; his was a clear eyed intensity as if he could see right through to the heart of her. It was exhilarating and a little terrifying to be so known, if something that felt so safe and so dear could be terrifying. The illogic of it did nothing at all to reconcile the butterflies. 

She rolled the rest of the way over, turning into his arms and tucking her leg over his. She rubbed her calf against his as she pulled him down again. 

“You make me forget what it is I want to say,” she scolded without heat and pressed a kiss to the base of his throat, smiling against his skin as she felt the rumble of his chuckle. He sounded a little breathless.

“Good thing that's mutual or you'd never get a word i-” and she stopped his mouth with hers, pressing him onto his back and following until she lay draped over him. She moaned softly into his mouth as his hands trailed down her back and settled on her arse.

But no, she leaned up a little and shook her head, resisting the urge to give in to the gathering hunger, resisting the temptation to move against him until they were once again slick with sweat and drunk with the feel of each other, like magic thrumming through their blood. She gazed down at him as she calmed her breathing, determined to recapture her thoughts and what she meant to ask. He opened his eyes, so blue, blinking up at her as he licked his lower lip, his hair a vivid tangle against the white pillow and so different from her own moonlit locks.

“Something wrong?”

She shook her head again and traced a finger delicately over his eyebrow. He quirked it at her, smiling quizzically.

“You are very beautiful,” she said softly. “Even when I foolishly thought I did not like you, I had to admit it. And now that I can see you, really see you, you are as perfect in face and form as I could hope for or desire.”

Bill blinked at her and she watched in amusement as the colour rose in his cheeks. He was well aware that he was attractive, but talking about it without some joke or quip made him delightfully self-conscious. She could tell he was thinking of some witticism even now and would no doubt try to turn it around back to her since she had no trouble at all discussing her own beauty, as he well knew. She placed a fingertip on his lips to forestall him.

“No jokes; I am serious. It is not vanity to recognise what is true.” She felt his lips shift under her finger and she rolled her eyes. “We are not talking about me, and you will not distract me again. I have wanted to ask for some time now, and you always make it so that I forget until it is no longer appropriate.” 

That got his attention as she knew it would, because if nothing else Fleur was as blunt as a bludger and rarely felt the need to curb her tongue in his presence.

“What is it, _habibi_?

She sat up and shook her hair back; the air was a little cool, but not uncomfortably so. She pressed a hand to his hip. 

“Turn over. _Bon_ ,” she said as he complied with a puzzled smile. He leaned up on his elbows to look at her but she was admiring the view. The broad, muscled set of his shoulders swept down in a tantalising arc to the small of his back, paused for a moment at a pair of fascinating dimples, and then swelled to the delicious double curve of his arse and thence to his strong thighs. Fleur threw the covers to the foot of the bed and nodded, pleased. 

Bill cleared his throat and shifted a little. “Was there something...?” He fell silent as her fingers trailed warmly over his arse.

“I have not had a good look before; my fingertips know it better.” She saw the dawning comprehension on his face, and the amusement. 

“The scar,” he said.

“Mmm, it is not a curse scar, I think. You have those and I would like their stories, but this one is very strange. It is like the moon, the crescent.” She traced the slight weal with a fingertip; it was not very large, perhaps three centimetres long, and was a little paler than the surrounding skin. She decided to reserve inquiry into when he had last sunbathed nude for another occasion.

“A half moon, more like, seeing how it's on my left arse cheek,” the laughter was bubbling out now. “You can blame two enterprising little brothers and a visit home during Christmas hols.”

She looked at him expectantly, her fingers still delicately caressing his skin. “Yes? That is not much of a story.”

“I should let Fred and George tell it properly, but suffice it to say that at the tender age of twelve and with an improper understanding of the Transfiguration of Magical Creatures as well as the illustrations in their textbook, they left what they decided was a fire crab in the kitchen. That I sat on it was my own fault; I'd got out of the habit of checking the chairs! That was the last time Mum let them leave their experiments scuttling about, but their timing was good. She couldn't shout at them as much as she'd have liked on Christmas morning!” He grinned as she began to laugh. 

“Now it's just a story to take me down a peg when I'm on my dignity, at least according to the boys. _They_ say I should have better reflexes; _I_ say my reflexes are pants before my first cup of coffee, that ended up all over said pants adding insult to injury!”

“I would say injury to injury!”

“The Twins are good training for wand protocol; always have it on hand, even when without pockets. I've never applied an anti-burn spell so fast in my life and threw in one against sunburn for good measure. You laugh, but it's a really good one. Worked a treat.” 

Bill waited until she stopped chuckling to add, “Mum couldn't even scold about walking about in my pants, yeah? I couldn't have stripped out of trousers as fast.” The image this final detail conjured up was too much and he grinned as Fleur fell over helpless with laughter. 

She wiped her eyes on a corner of the pillowcase before sitting up again. “And what terrible revenge did you seek out against these brothers? It must have been terrible; I know how much you love coffee.”

He scrubbed a hand in his hair and smiled. “Which is to say I don't love my arse or my bits? It was a really good crab, lack of fire aside,” he said as if that explained everything. “As long as I don't go spreading the story about, my dignity doesn't suffer much.”

She shook her head at his forbearance, but had to smile. “You have dignity?” she asked, with mock surprise. He turned lightning fast and she squeaked as he pinned her to the bed. 

“No,” he grinned. “Just reflexes.” 

She draped her arms around his shoulders, pleased to snuggle into the heat radiating off his skin as he pressed closer for a kiss. She let him distract her for a lingering moment full of soft touches and breathless sighs, until she was warm through again, and tingling. 

“Bill...,” she sighed as he nuzzled her jaw. “Bill,” she asserted with an attempt at forcefulness as he nibbled that spot that so quickly turned her knees to jelly. He gave a last regretful lick before replying.

“Something else?”

She opened her eyes and nearly choked on a laugh. He looked both absurdly young and ridiculously disreputable with a silly pout pushing out his lower lip and his disordered hair falling into his eyes. She tugged lightly on his earring before sliding her hands down his back, her hand unerringly finding the next landmark below his right shoulder blade.

“This one, tell me about this one.”

“You really want to know?”

“I want to know. I want to know their stories, your stories.”

He considered and sat up, pulling her with him. He twisted to glance down his back although there was no way he could see the galleon sized mark without a mirror. It looked like a squid that had been stepped upon. “I should do this chronologically, it'd be faster. 'Once upon'a time, when I was six....'”

She made a moue at him. “We have no where to be until tomorrow, and I should like to know about this one. First,” she said as he opened his mouth. “Then the others.” 

He laughed. “Some belong to the same stories, yeah?”

Fleur stuck her tongue out at him which invariably led to his darting forward to catch it between his lips. She slapped his shoulder lightly but leaned into the kiss, breaking it with a nip when she felt him pressing her back again. He grinned.

“It was worth a try. Right, that would be the time I miscalculated the blast radius of a cursed jar and got tagged when the table I was using for cover was blown to kindling.”

“That is it? There must be more to this story. No more kisses until you tell it properly!” He heaved a huge sigh and looked mournful (and appreciative) as she leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve a blanket from where it had fallen to the floor, his fugitive smile hovering around his eyes all the while. 

“Tell it properly or you shall have nothing,” she insisted, palliating this by wrapping the blanket around them and nestling comfortably into his embrace. She felt him settle and _Hmmm...._ thoughtfully into her hair before he began as she had asked.

“This was, oh, a little over three years ago. I had just joined Prospect 37 and had something to prove, yeah? Wasn't enough to get the job; had to show I was worth the risk they took on me.” She twitched and she could hear the smile in his voice as he continued. “Oh it was a risk, all right, a fair one based on my performance record but P37 is an order of magnitude more difficult than anything I'd been assigned before.”

She leaned into his shoulder and looked at his profile thoughtfully as he told his story. From someone with as lively a sense of humour as Bill, the anecdote was amusing and light although he was not above playing her expectations for tension and excitement. Only to dissipate it in some joke, she smiled to herself. There was no edge to his self mockery, just a storyteller's art. The clues to just how dangerous his job had been and how responsibly he had met its challenges would be clear to anyone with the knowledge to understand.

“What did the site supervisor do?” She asked when the tale had wound down, after he described being mercilessly ribbed by the Prospect leader and welcomed by the entire team as one of their own. 

“Er...,” for the first time he looked rather embarrassed. “She put in for me to receive a commendation, and a hazard compensation package.”

Fleur blinked at that last. “You were off for how long?”

He paused and she could hear how rueful he was. “Properly? Eight days in the infirmary, and then another three weeks on light duty. Paperwork essentially.” He made a face. “Goblin paperwork is almost as bad as Ministry paperwork, and there's a lot more of it. But at least they don't coddle y-.” He broke off and she glanced up and caught his chagrined look. 

His look of surprise when she giggled turned it to a full laugh. “Foolish man, did you think I did not know? That I could not guess?” She sat up, the blanket slipping off her shoulder, and prodded him in the chest for emphasis. “You do not fool me one little bit; the danger adds spice, yes? What's more, I know you miss the work. I cannot sit so close and not hear it in your voice or feel it in your body. If you could go back tomorrow, you would.”

“If I could.... Yeah...,” he trailed off, bemused.

She settled against him again rubbing her hand over his knuckles. “Tell me about this one.”

And so he told her about the interlude with the giant scorpions when he got his hand got stuck to a pillar like any tyro caught in a thief trap. (“Anything that big can eat a dog for lunch. I still don't like scorpions, but it was good practice breaking with my left hand. Still haven't lived it down with my mates.”) 

And then Fleur had to laugh over the time when he was ten when he had been knocked off his broom and crashed through a tree, even as she gasped and shook her head at how dreadfully he had bashed up his knee and broken his arm. (“But up until then it was _amazing_ , and the trajectory of the last pumpkin was perfect. Charlie remembers; I'll ask him to tell you about it.”)

Finally Bill coughed and plaintively asked if he could have a glass of water since she was still withholding kisses. 

“Please, one more. For today, at least,” she wheedled as she summoned a glass and gave him a soft kiss for good measure. 

“All right,” he said after he drained off half the glass and took extensive liberties with the kiss. “Which one is it? The one on my calf or the-?”

“This one,” she said, sliding her hand up his arm. He went rather still and she looked at him in concern. She could feel the mood shift, like a sudden fall of frost.

“Ah.”

“What is it?” 

“Two summers ago. It was at the Quidditch World Cup. Did you go?” She shook head and he continued quietly. “Masked Death Eaters, or people posing as them, caused some trouble that night. After the match.” 

She was silent; she could not ask this time but it was there in her body language, and he took a sip of water and told her. He told her of hearing the frightened shouting and seeing the Dark Mark glowing balefully in the sky; of running toward the trouble with Charlie while wishing they could be anywhere but there as he nonetheless pushed and shoved as fast as he could through the fleeing people. He told her of the curious paradox of too much time and none at all to think with blasts of spell fire lighting up the air around him, and of what a strange feeling it was to take his wand and fire at another person with the intent to hurt. 

“It wasn't duelling. It wasn't so polite, yeah?” He looked at the ragged memento on his arm; it was small and pale, and shaped rather like an exclamation mark. “Barely felt it when it happened; didn't realise I'd got tagged until the blood made my wand grip slippery. It was all right; lots of blood but nothing serious. It was a cutting curse and not something really nasty; no teeth,” he smiled, with a gleam of humour. “Nothing to linger and make trouble later,” he clarified. “We got back to the tents and made sure the kids were all right. There was some trouble about Harry's wand and everyone was shaken up and a bit knocked about, but no serious injuries.” 

And because she somehow knew that she would have to ask, she asked.

“Did you hurt anyone?” 

He set the empty glass on the bedside table and thought for a moment and then smiled at her ruefully. “I don't know.” She cocked her head and waited. 

“It was dark and we were firing off what we could. It was so fast, yeah? There was screaming and people running and smoke, and they didn't leave anyone behind. I might have; I meant to. But I can't know.” He must have seen something in her expression, because he dipped his head a little to catch her eyes. “It doesn't make it worse not knowing; it doesn't make it better, either. But it _is_ all right. It's just a scar, and not even a very bad one.” He gave her a crooked half smile. “I hoped you'd overlook this one; didn't want to spoil the mood.”

She sat a little straighter at that and shook her head. “ _Non_ , I want to know. This is you, all of this, all these things you have lived through.” She could feel the protest rising in him before he spoke, and the concern.

“Fleur-.” 

She shrugged the rest of the way out of the blanket so it fell about their hips and turned to take his face in her hands. Her fingers tenderly cupped his jaw and she hoped he would feel her meaning if her words were not enough. 

“Bill, _mon coeur_ , it is not the knowing that frightens me, it is the _not_ knowing.” She gently kissed first one and then his other eyelid, and then his mouth slowly, trying to convey all the words she did not have into her touch. He made a soft vulnerable noise, not much more than a sigh and she leaned into the kiss, feeling his body so warm and vital, his arms so secure around her. She caressed along his arm until her fingers found the scar again and she broke the kiss enough to murmur “This is courage,” before she bent her head to trace her lips over the mark and to press a warm kiss to his skin.

“Fleur-,” he began again, but she pressed her finger to his lips and shook her head. Shifting back, she gave him a smile full of mischief. 

“This? This is _esprit_ ,” and she bussed his knee soundly, startling a laugh from him. He half jokingly offered the spot where he had broken his arm and she gave a peck there as well. 

“I must show I have been listening, yes?” and she took his hand between her own and carefully kissed each knuckle before saying fondly, “Skill.” He subsided with an embarrassed grin, a hint of colour on his cheeks as she crossed behind him. Fleur ran her hands along his shoulders and squeezed. She tsked at the tension stiffening his muscles and suddenly changed her plan.

“All right back there?”

“You are full of, what is it, knots. Hard, like a piece of wood.” She pressed with her hands, then shook her head at the poor leverage. “No, you must lie down. You are too tall; I must take care of you but I cannot do it properly like this.” 

She pushed at him when he did not move fast enough for her, and briskly pulled away the blanket when it threatened to tangle around his legs. He smiled at her in bemusement, once again propped up on his elbows as he lay on his stomach before her, warm and glowing against the white of the sheets. 

“Is this what you-?” He began when she lightly smacked him on the arse and interrupted.

“All the way down!” He blinked at her but obeyed, suppressing a grin as he pillowed his head on his folded arms. 

“This all right?” 

“ _Bon_ ,” she said. He started up a little when she straddled him to sit on his arse, but she tapped his shoulder with an admonishing hand and he settled. “ _Bon_ ,” she said again. “Good,” she sighed as she pressed her hands firmly along his shoulders and back, leaning into him and slowly working out the tension. Her hands warmed to their task, sliding across the well loved planes and curves of his body and she smiled to hear him sigh with relief. 

“Beautiful,” she murmured. “You are so beautiful, _mon amour_." Fleur grinned, pleased when his protesting murmur came out a groan of pleasure. She could feel the heat rising from his skin as she kneaded him into a melted puddle. It was too tempting. She bent lower against him and nuzzled along his shoulder and kissed his nape, her hands touching him rather differently now. 

She rarely had Bill so at her mercy and unable to respond in kind, and she took entirely unfair advantage. She lavished every attention on his back, pressing close to nuzzle and whisper endearments against his skin, a sweet ache building in her body. She could sense it gathering in him, too, as his rumbled groans became breathless, a different sort of tension trembling under her hands and between her thighs. She found the scar beneath his shoulder blade again and felt the texture with her tongue. 

“Honour,” she murmured, kissing her way up his back until she could nuzzle at his ear and say it again, her breath tickling against his ear. 

“Oh...,” Bill shivered at the touch of her lips until what she said penetrated, “it's not....” She pressed tight against his back and licked the shell of his ear, trembling a little at how her nipples dragged against his skin.

“Do not contradict; that is rude.” She shifted a little to rub her breasts against him again and gasped as her motion ground her pelvis against his arse. So she did it again, until she was undulating against him slowly, a delicious tension curling through her. 

“Fleur.” His voice was strained. Her only answer was a moan as she stretched against him, sliding her feet along his legs. 

He choked, and twisted beneath her. Before she knew it he had flipped them over and she was caught, his mouth ravaging hers as his pressed his knee between her thighs, his fingers seeking and finding her slick and hot. Moaning deep in her throat, she opened to him; done with teasing, done with waiting, needing him within her like she needed her next breath. She arched against him, crying out as he filled her, as he dove into her with a groaning sob, her name babbling from his lips. 

They moved together on the edge of desperation and Fleur opened her eyes, wanting, needing to see him like this and oh he was glorious. His bright hair had fallen into his eyes and dark strands were stuck to the sweat glistening on his flushed skin, his lips were bitten red and opened in a grimace of pleasure as he gasped for breath. And he was watching her. She tightened around him, whimpering, and felt him move harder, faster, and saw his eyes grow impossibly darker, until they filled her vision. Her hand found the scar under his shoulder blade again, clutched at it, at him as she pulled him closer, deeper, tasted his skin hungrily, tried to speak though she had no breath left for words. 

“Bill!” she finally cried out, sobbing, all she wanted to say distilled into just that, and it was too much, too much to feel and want and need and take and give, and the world flared for a moment in a wash of brilliant light as her senses were overwhelmed, and nevertheless knowing that he was with her still. 

They lay there together as they had fallen, just breathing for a long moment. When he moved to withdraw from her, Fleur tightened her arms.

“I'm squashing you,” he murmured, his voice still a little unsteady. She shook her head and held tight, and he subsided again, shifting just enough to take some of his weight onto his arm. And so they lay there as their breathing steadied, Bill lightly tracing his thumb along her collarbone and Fleur's hands drifting down his back, content. 

“Fleur?”

“Mmm?” 

“Are you going to finish?”

“Finish?” She looked at him, noting the poorly concealed grin.

“The scars, yeah? You were putting attributes or qualities or something to each one, but I noticed you left one out.” 

Fleur rolled her eyes a little and suppressed a smile. Her hand had been caressing the one 'left out' for several minutes. “No, I do not think so. I am saving it.”

He pouted at that. “Saving it for what?”

“For the next time. You have still to tell me what happened when you were six, no?”

He had to chuckle at that. “Yeah, I set that one up, didn't I. But you're really not telling?”

She nodded. “No, but I can tell you what it isn't.” He looked at her questioningly and she grinned impishly. “Your reflexes are excellent.”

And his laughter was like the sun coming out.

**Author's Note:**

> Given that this is Bill, any conversation about scars is inevitably heavy handed foreshadowing. So I went in the other direction and invited the topic in for a chat. It made working out the tenor of the piece complicated, but I wanted to tell it.


End file.
